Night of the Raven Page 4

  Spreading her fingers, she gave a humorless laugh. “I am so out of my element right now. Is there any chance you’re going to tell me what you think just happened here?”

  “Someone fired a rifle nine times, then took off.”

  “And you know he’s gone because...?”

  “I heard his truck.”

  “Are you—?”

  She saw him move, but not in time to avoid the fingers that curled around the nape of her neck.

  He stared down at her. “The only thing I’m sure of, Amara, is that we need to get something out of the way before it gets both of us killed.”

  “What? No.” With the truck at her back, she had nowhere to go, no escape. “Don’t you dare do this, McVey. I’m messed up enough already without adding sex to the mix.”

  A dangerous grin appeared. “I wasn’t thinking sex quite yet, Red, but I could probably be persuaded.”

  She planted her palms firmly on his chest. “You’re messing with my mind.” And tangling everything inside her into a hot ball of... She wasn’t sure what, but something that wanted very badly to take things a whole lot deeper a whole lot faster than she should.

  “Lady, you’ve been messing with my mind for fifteen years.”

  “Don’t go there.”

  “Not planning to.” Eyes gleaming, he lowered his head until his mouth hovered a tantalizing inch above hers. “If you really want to stop me, Red, this is your last chance.”

  “Seriously, McVey. We shouldn’t... I’m not...” She exhaled heavily. “I hate you.” Casting caution to the still-howling wind, Amara took his face in her hands and yanked his very sexy mouth down onto hers.

  * * *

  LIEUTENANT ARTHUR MICHAELS mopped the back of his neck as he climbed the stairs to his Algiers apartment. He’d taken a roundabout route from Jackson, Mississippi, to New Orleans—by way of Arkansas and an old friend, who’d given him both a bed for the night and a name: Willy Sparks.

  Rumor had it Willy could outthink a fox, outmaneuver a weasel and poison an enemy so neatly that the best forensic teams in the country were left scratching their collective heads as to why the corpse they were examining didn’t simply get up and walk out of the room.

  And speaking of rooms... He saw right away that the door to his apartment was still marked with the tiny paper he’d placed between it and the frame before leaving town. Absurdly relieved, he went inside, shed his jacket and cranked the high windows open.

  One of his neighbors was having a party. Boisterous jazz, led by trumpet and saxophone, drifted through the openings. The smell of gumbo made his mouth water and his system long for a cold beer. Being a cautious man, however, he settled for water from the jug in his fridge.

  He didn’t hear the sound behind him as much as sense it in the light brush of air on his neck.

  It only took him a split second to unholster his gun, spin and aim at— Nothing, he realized. Funny, he could have sworn...

  Several rapid eyeblinks later, he lowered his arm.

  He continued to blink as the edges of the apartment fuzzed. His fingers lost sensation. The gun clattered to the floor.

  “Son of a...”

  “Ah, ah, ah.” One of the long shadows came alive in the form of a wagging finger. “Don’t be rude, Lieutenant, or I’ll go against orders and add unspeakable pain to your death. It’s a well-known fact that Willy Sparks’s mother is not what you were just about to call her.”

  He couldn’t move, Michaels realized; not anything except his eyes.

  He slumped to the floor. Hands groped his pockets, then rolled him onto this back like a discarded doll. He heard a series of beeps beneath his neighbor’s music. When they stopped, a low chuckle floated downward.

  “You have a most obliging BlackBerry. Raven’s Hollow, Maine. That’s very far north, isn’t it? But you know, Lieutenant, I’ve heard the water’s much safer to drink up in Maine than it is here in the Big Easy.”

  The BlackBerry hit the floor. Water gurgled down the drain. The music played on. His apartment door clicked shut. And Lieutenant Arthur Michaels thought of ravens....

  Chapter Five

  Lock it away, Amara cautioned herself. Bring it out later—because how could she not? But she’d kissed men before and would again, so...not a problem.

  Unless she acknowledged the fact that ten minutes after she’d dragged her mouth from his, her senses continued to zap like an electric wire gone wild.

  Did McVey feel the same? They were in his truck, driving. She couldn’t read his profile, and he hadn’t really looked at her or talked to her, so who knew?

  There was that other thing, too; the part about her face having been in his head for fifteen years. What was she supposed to do with that weird knowledge?

  He finally glanced over as they neared the outskirts of the Hollow. “You’re annoyed, aren’t you, Red? I can feel the vibes taking bites out of me.”

  Amara flicked him a similar look. “Don’t flatter yourself, McVey. It’s been a very bizarre night. I was torn between kissing you and kneeing you. It just so happens I’m a pacifist.”

  “Is that why I have four gouges in my left cheek?”

  “You tackled me in my grandmother’s house. Maybe you’re renting it at the moment, but I didn’t know that going in.”

  “Breaking in.”

  Her lips curved. “I’m fairly certain that using a key to enter a property can’t be construed as a break-in. However, to answer your question, yes, I’m annoyed, just not for the reason you probably think.” Lowering the visor, she regarded the tangled mess of her hair, sighed and began rooting through her shoulder bag for a brush. “I liked it.”

  “I know.”

  She heard the amusement in his tone and told herself not to react. “I know you know. That’s why I’m annoyed. Tell me—” she worked the brush through the tangles “—do you eat midnight snacks?”

  “Not anymore.” He swung onto Main Street, made a wide U-turn and stopped in a no-parking zone. “You might want to stay behind me when we go inside. I see two broken windows.”

  “I see four. I hope whoever broke them likes mucking out stables. Male or female, when it comes to serious property damage, Uncle Lazarus is a tyrant.”

  “You know your family’s a little scary, right?”

  “Which side?”

  “Take your pick,” he said as they approached the front door. “Now, unless your repertoire contains a curse for every occasion, remember to stick close when we go in.”

  Low lights tinged with red burned throughout the bar. Kiss rocked the jukebox and glass crunched like pebbles underfoot. Oh, yeah, Amara thought, Uncle Lazarus would be plenty pissed.

  To the left of the entryway, behind a long line of pool tables, a dozen broken chairs and tables sat in a cockeyed heap. Groups of customers continued to hurl insults back and forth across the remaining tables. Amara spotted more than a few drops of blood both on the people and on the floor.

  “Well, hallelujah, Chief, you made it.” A tall man with receding brown hair, heavy stubble and bean-black eyes pushed through the crowd. He wore a tan T-shirt, a shoulder holster and a frown that became a sneer when he spied his newly arrived Bellam cousin.

  “Spit and I’ll suspend you,” McVey warned, not looking at him. “I assume you two have met.”

  “I know who she is.” A muscle twitched in Jake’s jaw. “She don’t look much different than she did the night she gave my brother Jimbo the screaming meemies up on Raven’s Ridge.”

  “I imagine that was unintentional, Deputy.”

  As a wave of people began to enfold him, Amara shrugged. “It wasn’t, actually. I meant to scare him, and it worked.”

  “Jimbo was a year and a half younger than you,” Jake accused.

  “He was also forty pounds heavier, six inches taller and trying very hard to coax me into jumping off the edge of the cliff.”

  “You could’ve said no.”

  “He said he didn’t like that word. Push, t
hough...he liked that word a lot.”

  Jake thrust his chin out. “He was a kid.”

  “So was I.”

  “He still half believes one of his spooky Bellam cousins can talk to ravens and make them do her bidding. Frigging witch.”

  Losing patience, Amara regarded him through her lashes. “Don’t tempt me. I’m older now and less...tolerant.”

  Jake showed his teeth but didn’t, she noticed, utter another word.

  “Smart man.” Through a crowd that was now vying loudly for his attention, McVey indicated the carnage in the corner. “How many arrests have you made?”

  Jake dragged his resentful gaze from Amara. “Six. When you didn’t show, I called the Hardens in to help out.”

  “Part-time Hollow deputies,” McVey said over his shoulder. “Twins.”

  “Thick as bricks, the pair of them.” Jake snarled at a trio of men who elbowed him aside and began pleading their cases to McVey. “The Hardens are kin to Tyler Blume. No idea why he took the job, but Tyler’s the police chief here in the Hollow.” He raised his voice. “A town we Cove cops are being forced to watch over while he’s off snorkeling with his new Bellam wife.”

  “That would be my cousin Molly.” When McVey shifted his attention from the squabbling men to arch a brow in Amara’s direction, she let her eyes sparkle. “It gets complicated very quickly if you start talking relatives around here. Think of me and Nana as the link between two feuding families.” Without missing a beat, she offered a placid, “Say missing link, Jake, and you’ll have hemorrhoids by the end of your shift.”

  She felt the deputy’s glare before he pushed his way to McVey’s other side.

  A man with a pockmarked face and no neck shouted over Amara’s head, “Was a Blume who started it, McVey. Called our beer donkey—er, well, anyway, he accused Yolanda of cutting it.”

  Amara poked McVey’s hip. “Does Yolanda Bellam manage this bar?”

  “More or less.... Yeah, Frank, I heard you.... From your expression, I’d speculate you and Yolanda aren’t BFFs.”

  “Put it this way, if I’d known she was here, I’d have taken my chances with the shooter up at Nana’s.”

  On cue, a high female voice sliced through the predominately male grumbles. “Amara? My God, is it really you?”

  Her cousin had a little-girl drawl, glossy pink lips and red-blond curls clipped back at the sides to show off her angelic face.

  Yeah, right, angelic, Amara thought, tipping her lips into a smile as a pair of wide blue eyes joined the mix. “Hey, Yolanda. It’s been— Well, years.”

  Her cousin pushed a man out of her path, slung the dish towel she carried over her shoulder and spread her arms in welcome.

  “Cousin Ammie’s back. And isn’t she a living doll? She brought me the best present ever.” Those welcoming arms knocked Amara aside and wrapped themselves tightly around McVey’s neck. “How’s the handsomest lawman on the East Coast tonight?” Her eyes and mouth grew suddenly tragic. “You’ll make them pay, won’t you, McVey? I tried, but I couldn’t get any such promise out of your mean-mouthed deputy.”

  Amara’s opinion of Jake shot up ten full points. She wasn’t so sure about McVey.

  To his credit, however, he removed her clinging arms, sent Amara a humorous look and headed for the pool tables, where three men with pierced body parts were holding their cues like baseball bats.

  Yolanda pouted after him...until someone stepped on her foot and then the pout became a snarl. “You still nipping chins and lifting butts?”

  Unruffled, Amara smiled. “Why? Are you looking for a freebie?”

  “I wouldn’t come to you if I was.”

  “Only because we apply the word in different ways.”

  Yolanda’s fists balled. “I could blacken both your eyes, you know.”

  “I’d say the same, except you’ve already done it yourself.”

  “I— Damn!” Wiping a finger under her lower lashes, Yolanda scowled. “Some dumb Blume threw a beer and got me square in the face.” She gave her other eye a wipe. “Talk to me, Amara. Why have you come here after fifteen years of not here?”

  “I wanted to see Nana.”

  “In that case, Portland’s an hour’s drive south and have a nice flight. Nana’s in St. Croix. Or maybe it’s the Cayman Islands. Anyway, you’ll find her if you look hard enough.” With the speed of a striking snake, she grabbed Amara’s trench coat and yanked her forward to hiss, “He’s mine. You got that?”

  Amara pried her hand away. “I got it when you turned into a barnacle a minute ago.”

  Her cousin’s eyes flashed. “I can make your life hell.”

  “You can try.” And, she admitted silently, might have succeeded if Jimmy Sparks hadn’t beaten her to it. “In an effort to keep the peace, Yolanda, if McVey says he’s yours, he’s yours. And welcome to you.”

  A finger jabbed her shoulder. “You can’t stay at Nana’s house while you’re here.”

  “Yep, figured that one out, too.”

  “Can’t stay with me and Larry, either.”

  “Your brother, Larry, the nighttime nudist? Uh, no.”

  The overhead lights surged and faded and caused an icy finger to slide along Amara’s spine.

  “Stupid wind.” But Yolanda observed her more keenly now. “A little raven told me you had some heavy court action going on down south. Saw someone die who wasn’t on your operating table when it happened.”

  She didn’t need this, Amara thought, but rather than snap at her cousin, she shrugged it off. “I saw. I testified. It’s done.” When the lights faded again, she added a quick, “Uh, how’s Uncle Lazarus?”

  Yolanda sniffed. “Still pays me next to nothing to manage this rude branch of hell, but he’s a Blume, so what do you expect?” Her lips quirked. “Word is the man you testified against is the mean and powerful head of a family that’s into all sorts of nasty things. Extortion, weapons, drugs—murder.”

  “My, what big ears you have, Grandma.” His pool-player problems apparently dealt with, McVey surprised Amara by dropping an arm over her shoulders. “Some analogies go on forever, don’t they, Red?” Before she could answer, he made a head motion at the crowd. “I’m seeing a lot of unfamiliar faces, Yolanda. They drifting in for the Night of the Raven Festival already?”

  Amara knew her cheeks went pale. She glanced at a nonexistent watch on her wrist, then at the walls for a calendar. “Is it—? What’s today? The date,” she clarified, still searching.

  “May 10,” McVey supplied. “Why?”

  “What? Oh, nothing. I forgot...an appointment.”

  But damn, damn, how on earth had she forgotten about the scores of strangers who drove, bussed, cycled and hitchhiked to Raven’s Hollow to take part in the three-day celebration known as the Night of the Raven?

  The Night festival was the Hollow’s once-a-year answer to the Cove’s once-every-three-years Ravenspell. Although the story at the root of the events was the same, it was told from two very different perspectives. Over the years both events—the Cove’s in the fall and the Hollow’s in the spring—had become a magnet for every curse-loving fanatic in and out of the state.

  This was, Amara realized, the worst possible time for her to be in either town.

  Her smile nothing short of malicious, Yolanda drew a raven’s head in the residue of a spilled beer. “Bet the Cayman Islands are looking better and better about now, huh, Amara? Say the word and I’ll get right on my little computer and book you a flight out of Portland.”

  When a shrill whistle cut through the crowd noise, she banged her fist on the bar. “I’m not a dog, Jake Blume. What do you want?”

  He wagged the receiver of a corded wall phone. “Boss man’s on the line and he’s in a crappy mood.”

  “I hate that man,” Yolanda breathed. “Both men. Remember the spiders, Amara.” With a lethal look for her cousin, she snapped the dish towel from her shoulder and vanished into a sea of bodies.

  “She put a jar
of them in my bed,” Amara said before McVey could ask. “Well, I say she, but Yolanda only had the idea. Jake and Larry collected and planted them.”

  “In your bed.”

  “Under the covers, at the bottom. She told them to leave the top off so the spiders could crawl around wherever. The things were big. I freaked and refused to sleep in that particular room again.”

  McVey tugged on a strand of hair to tilt her head back. “Did you tell your grandmother?”

  “No need.”

  “Do I want to know why?”

  “Because all three of them, Jake most particularly, are terrified of snakes.” She swept an arm around the room. “Is the fighting done?”

  “For now.” He nodded at a row of dull brass taps that glowed an eerie shade of red under lights that continued to surge and fade. “Do you want a drink before we leave?”

  “Poison is a witch’s weapon, McVey, and Yolanda’s a Bellam. But thanks for the offer.”

  “Festival slipped your mind, didn’t it?”

  She ran her hands up and down her arms. “Unfortunately. The prospect of eminent death must have pushed it out. I’ve only ever been to one Night celebration myself. If it’s of any interest to you—and it should be—the Hollow’s Night of the Raven isn’t quite as civilized as the Cove’s Ravenspell.”

  “Translation, Tyler Blume deliberately planned his honeymoon so he’d miss it.”

  “If you’ve met him, you know he did. On the other hand, Jake should be in his element.” She glanced up when the lights winked off. “Uh...” Then back on. “Okay, my nerves are getting a way bigger workout than they need.”

  She heard a familiar double beep beneath wailing Tim McGraw. As she hunted in her shoulder bag for her phone, she saw McVey pluck a mug of beer from a much larger man’s hand.

  “You’re over your limit, Samson. Unless you want to join your buddies in jail, go home.”

  The man’s face reddened. “Gonna get my wife to put a pox on you, you don’t give that back, McVey.”

  “Do it, and I’ll get Red here to put one on you.”

  “My wife’s got an aunt who’s a Bellam.” The man jerked his stubbly chin. “What’s she got?”